


i feel alive when i'm with you, baby

by perennial



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: & shenanigans, F/M, real world AU, with ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27294109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennial/pseuds/perennial
Summary: Draco wants to find a way to bring himself back to life.The other ghosts want to be named England’s scariest haunted house.And Hermione just wants to sell the place.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 23
Kudos: 75





	i feel alive when i'm with you, baby

**Author's Note:**

> [[lord huron]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KW9nDm1ui9g)
> 
> inspired by [this](https://thecw4kids.tumblr.com/post/152610530918/ghost-in-the-house-get-out-i-will-take-you-real) tumblr post  
> 
>
>> **ghost in the house:** GET OUT. I WILL TAKE YOU-  
>  **real estate agent:** chill, its me.  
>  **ghost:** oh hey. have you sold it yet.  
>  **real estate agent:** obviously NOT, idiot.
> 
>   
> to the darling subscribers who have patiently waited for another hp fic while i write as my obscure fandom whimsy takes me: your loyalty has not gone unnoticed. this one's for you. happy halloween! 

> **1 October**

Thunder cracks open the sky above the dilapidated manor, though the rain clouds are still rolling in. A figure in a pencil skirt and black stilettos marches up the walkway to the wide front porch. Brown leaves skitter across her path. Wind tears at the dark curls she has pinned into a rather unruly chignon, but she doesn't pay it any heed; her expression is businesslike. Rusty windchimes hanging at the far end of the porch jangle against each other, high and discordant.

The woman lets herself inside and abruptly all is quiet.

The house is dark; velvet curtains that haven't been opened in years block the meager outside light that is being swiftly swallowed up by the impending storm. Musty, flattened carpeting runs from the front door to the impressive main staircase. Despite the emptiness, there is an air of expectancy, as though the house is watching her cross through the foyer… as though someone else can hear the echo of her footsteps and is listening to the floorboards creak under her feet.

A window shutter flies open and bangs incessantly against the wall outside. The temperature inside the house drops suddenly; the chill of an October afternoon becomes a freezing December night. The closed door to the study creaks open without apparent cause. There is a flicker of movement in the rusty mirror hanging above the fireplace.

The woman rolls her eyes. "It is just me. Still just me. Chill."

At this, twelve transparent silver figures float into view. They rise through the floor, emerge from the walls, and drift down from the high ceiling to gather around her.

She says, "Stop trying to scare off the buyers, please."

Cedric says, "We were practicing!"

Remus says, "Were you scared?"

Fred waggles his fingers in her face. "Did chills race up your spine? Did goosebumps break out on your arms? Did your hair stand on end?"

"Hardly." She looks around. "Where is his very benevolent lordship?"

"Library," peeps Colin.

She turns on her phone flashlight and starts to climb the staircase. "Don't break any more window shutters," she says over her shoulder. "I'm sick of fixing them."

The library is a dusty tomb full of molding, water-damaged books. It was the pride of the house in its heyday, but now only spiders and mice roam the aisles of shelves. Outside, rain strikes the dirty windows.

The flashlight sweeps the room. "Draco?" the woman calls cautiously, trying not to fall over the rumpled carpet runner or toppled globe.

"In here." A silvery arm waves to her from the spine of a book. "Just a mo. Don't want to lose my place."

A smiling man emerges moments later. He is colorless, but even in life his hair was paler than his skin. At the time of his death he was dressed in eveningwear, though he'd shed the coat and necktie and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He will never age past thirty-two years, seven months, five days, and thirteen minutes.

He says, "You look like you want to give someone a scolding… or already have done. The troops out of order again?"

"I commend their ambition. However, I'm about to do a house showing, and if they intentionally botch this one up— _again_ —I swear I'll resurrect them so I can wring their necks."

"What a coincidence," he says, showing her the title of the book he has been reading: _Resurrecting the Nonconsenting Dead: A Collection of Anecdotes and Advisories from England's Finest Necromancers_.

She pulls the volume off the shelf. The light from his form is enough to read by; he peers over her shoulder as she flips through it. She stops on a page of a vivid illustration of a corpse in various stages of decay. "Charming," she says, "if a bit time consuming for my work schedule. Much easier for someone to simply keep them out of the way, don't you agree?"

He tips his head to look at the illustration and makes a noncommittal sound. "It'd be good practice." At her expression he says hastily, "I'll babysit them. But you know how they are. They really want that Most Haunted title."

"Then they are going to have to burn down Surrey and the Midlands, because so long as Croft Castle and Ham House stand there is no competing with the old guard."

"Pity the poor dreamers. Besides, they've been practicing."

"Yes! I've three window shutters' proof of it."

Her phone rings. The conversation is brief and wipes the smile from her face. The house tour is cancelled due to the weather.

The other ghosts, who have trickled into the library to eavesdrop on the call, are well pleased. "Perfect," says Moody. "You can play Sardines with us."

Sirius says, "We promise to not hide in the toilet."

The estate agent looks at Draco. He lifts a shoulder and smiles. "Not a bad deal."

"Come on, Hermione. You can't possibly see in this. You'll drive right into a ditch."

"Best to wait it out lest you risk joining us permanently."

As though to emphasize the point, lightning flashes through the library and for a split second all the ghosts vanish. Thunder booms with a force that makes the windows rattle.

The estate agent puts her hands on her hips. "Fine. But I'm hiding first. This won't be a repeat of summer solstice and the infamous chest of drawers."

They cheer and the glowing silver crowd disperses through the walls and floor. Draco, gliding past, whispers, "Head for the cellar. I found a burgundy there yesterday, still good." The manor's last owner had been a collector of fine wines.

She flashes him a surreptitious _okay_ hand signal. He winks and vanishes with the others.

> **3 October**

Three figures tour the house: the estate agent leads a young couple from room to room. The potential buyers walk hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, giddy with newlywed love. They share diabetes-inducing smiles and don't notice the dust storm they're kicking up.

The wife hugs her husband's bicep. "I wonder how many _ghosts_ live here!"

"Thirteen," says the estate agent.

A pause.

She remembers to laugh. The couple laughs too. The watching ghosts exchange bored looks.

The agent opens the kitchen door and all three halt at the sight of the tableau within.

The silvery forms of Lily and Tonks stand side by side behind the kitchen table, facing the door. They hold their favorite props—the axe and dagger they were buried with, both transparent—over James' twitching form, which is stretched across the table. His stomach intestines writhe, an especially macabre effect created by Remus and Dumbledore, hidden by the tablecloth, sticking their hands through the tabletop and wriggling their fingers in the air.

Lily smiles at the little wife. "Peekaboo," she coos. The resultant scream can be heard a mile down the moor.

In the attic Draco tries to animate a set of clothes. He cannot stir even a sleeve.

> **6 October**

The ghosts bribe the estate agent to arrange a movie night for them by promising her one—no, two—peaceful, ghost-free house tours.

"What do you want to watch?" she asks. " _Casper_ , _Practical Magic_ , _Sixth Sense_ , _Beetlejuice_? _Paranormal Activity_? _The Others_? _Ghost_?"

They give her unimpressed looks. " _You've Got Mail_ ," Sirius informs her.

"It's an autumnal classic," says Fred.

"' _Ghost_ '," says Severus witheringly.

They've found a projector in the attic and a set of ancient but functional speakers in the basement. The estate agent hangs a sheet for a screen and manages, with helpful input from all thirteen of them, to get the audio working.

Her finger hovers over Play. The crowd of silver faces looks at her expectantly.

She presses it. Opening sequences roll.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" says Tonks. The agent looks at the moth-eaten sofa. Four silver figures have parted to make a gap between Lavender and Draco.

She takes her place with a smile.

> **10 October**

A showing: treasure hunters, who spend the entire tour grilling the estate agent. They are convinced she knows where gold is buried on the property. She is unable to convince them that if she knew, the gold would be long gone by now.

They sneak in with shovels later that night. Floodlights fill the yard before they've flipped three scoops of dirt. The estate agent is waiting for them with the cops.

She grins at them. "Busted."

They are trussed up and bundled into police cars. Blue and red lights flash across their faces as they shout about how she'll get hers. She waves as the cars start down the drive.

The ghosts are sulky. "Aw, Hermione, you didn't let us have any fun with them."

"It's late and I want to go home." She jangles her keys in farewell and gets into her car.

A silvery figure at the front library window watches her taillights vanish into the night. Then he turns his attention back to the antique skeleton he is trying to animate. He cannot lift even a finger.

> **12 October**

A showing: a homeopath of some local fame, who walks through the manor planning an exorcism. Observant parties may notice Draco glaring from shadows and windows for the tour's duration.

The estate agent finally folds. "A standard exorcism won't be enough, I'm afraid. There are thirteen ghosts in this house."

"Thirteen?" says the woman faintly.

"That I know of. It's a big building; who's to say there aren't more? And if you succeed in extracting all of them, which is, frankly, unlikely—some have a very tight grip on this place—they'll probably just move into the barn. These are unfinished-business ghosts, you see. They aren't going anywhere, even if they want to."

> **14 October**

Halfway through October, ghost hunters sneak into the house. The resident ghosts watch with interest.

It's a crew of three, all late twenties, skinny as zippers, and they take themselves very seriously. Non-corporeal, the house's occupants poke around their detection instruments as they're setting up. They have a fortune's worth of hi-tech gear: electromagnetic radiation detectors, infrared thermometers, digital voice recorders, night vision cameras, even something called a ghost box. Devices are placed in every room.

The night is mild and outside the crickets chirp sweetly. The team turns on their night vision cameras and describe the way the sinisterness of the place struck them the moment they walked in. They are sure there are malevolent spirits present. Now they just need evidence.

The ghosts are laughing so hard they're snorting. "Should we open a door? Okay, open a door."

The hunters last thirty minutes.

> **17 October**

A showing: a wealthy home renovator who flips old houses and sells them to Hollywood actors for ten times the purchase price. His current passion is decrepit country homes. "You must have ghosts!" he laughs when chilled upon entry. "Encountered a few in my day. Best tack is to mind my own business and let them mind theirs, I've found." The estate agent beams at him.

The sky is overcast and the fog is gathering thick. The lamps flicker and throw hair-raising shadows on the walls.

In the attic, Lavender begins to sing a slow, eerie lullaby. Her voice leaks through the house like a distant siren wooing a ship. From the cellar, Severus sings the harmony. One at a time, the choir expands: joining in from the floor, the walls, the portraits whose mouths seem to be moving. By the time they reach the third verse he is running from the house.

The ghosts pantomime high fives. James says, "That title is in the bag."

> **19 October**

The sun comes out for its final bows of the year. Hermione spends the afternoon outside, attempting to beautify the porch. The breeze blows her curls in her eyes and the warm sunshine makes her hair shine. She is busy carving pumpkins and setting out chrysanthemums in planters. The ghosts model outrageous faces for her to carve.

From his perch on the railing, Draco says, "You know, this is a great place for a date."

"Is it," says Hermione, monotone.

"You really ought to bring a date here."

" _Ought_ I," she says, brows rising.

"Yeah. Someone you're attracted to. You know, physically. Maybe not the mental attraction. But, yeah, physically, at very minimum."

The raised brows narrow. "What are you plotting?"

"What! Am I plotting something in wanting you to find love and happiness?"

"They aren't mutually exclusive," she says. "If you want to make me happy, getting this place off the market would more than suffice."

"It's physically impossible for me to buy the house," he says. "Besides. I already live here."

"Then tell the others to cease and desist. I know perfectly well who runs this circus. That reminds me. Why did you try to kill Mr. Krum?"

"Who?"

"Viktor Krum. He cuts the grass every other weekend. The rabble," she waves an arm vaguely at the house, "tried to give him a heart attack the last time he was here and I know it was on your orders."

"That doesn't sound like me."

"It was certainly one of your stupider plans. He's barely thirty and he's a rugger, he's not going to have a heart attack no matter what you do to scare him. And what on earth could he have done to get into your bad graces? He's the nicest man in the world. I've never met someone so polite."

Draco mumbles something.

"What was that?"

"I just wanted to borrow his body."

"You what!"

"I didn't feel great about it!"

"You tried to _steal a body?_ Are you mad?!"

"No. I'm dead! I'm dead, and I want to be alive. I want to be alive so desperately, Hermione. Help me. Please? Help me figure out how to come back to life. And I'll help you find love and happiness." He regards her expression warily. "Or something else?"

"To _sell_ the _house!_ "

"Right. Sell the house. Easy. Once I'm alive again, I'll buy it!"

"Oh, really? With what?"

"There's gold buried in the back garden."

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation. This is insane. You're mad. You can't inhabit someone else's perfectly good body! And people don't come back to life after they're dead!"

"You don't want to help me?"

"What I want, Draco, is to sell this house. I want it off my Unsold list, pulling my numbers down. I want to stop having to drive here, an hour from the city where my own flat is located."

He says slowly, "You don't want to come here anymore?" He looks away across the moor, but not in time to hide the hurt that flashes across his face.

The eavesdropping ghosts crowd the porch to air their equally hurt feelings.

"You don't want to see us anymore?"

"I thought we were friends!"

"We had you to our movie night!"

"We showed you where the rotting mouse was stuck in the pipe!"

"We trust you!"

"Won't you miss us?"

"We'll miss you."

"Of course," she stammers. "Of course I love seeing you and I'll miss you. I only—I'm simply trying to do my job!"

> **19 October, continued**

"£36,000 to hire a necromancer?!" Hermione yelps.

"A small price to pay for a life like mine," says Draco. The surrounding ghosts don't hide their derision.

"It's a dreadful investment."

"Don't do it, Hermione. Buy a yacht instead."

She tells Draco, "The website says he works evenings, Fridays and Saturdays only. Results may vary. You're _certain_ you want this?"

He looks at her. "More than anything."

> **23 October**

The house is lit up like Christmas. Hermione leads the necromancer, a gruff, black-bearded man aged somewhere in the realm of fifty, through to the kitchen. Here most of the lights in the house shine like bright little suns, turning night into daylight and scaring away the spiders. The other ghosts, ordered out of the way, watch eagerly from where they cluster in the ceiling rafters.

The necromancer glances up and pauses. They wave enthusiastically, though they remain obediently silent. Hermione says, "Here's Mr. Draco Malfoy, who you'll be reanimating."

A ghost with very precise posture is waiting in the middle of the kitchen. The lights turn his silver form more transparent than usual, but the aura of nervous eagerness is unmistakable.

The necromancer says, "Where's the body?"

Draco says, "Buried, of course."

"Buried? How do you expect me to revive you without a body?" The man turns on Hermione. "What kind of joke is this, lady?"

Draco says, "But I'm right here. I just need to move out of the astral plane to the plane of the living."

"You think I can make skin and bones with my bare hands?"

The ghost says wildly, "But—but—I died ages ago. My body is decayed. There's probably nothing left of it."

"No body, no deal."

Hermione glares at him. "Hey, you never said—"

"It doesn't take a genius to know that to bring someone back from the dead, you have to have the body to put them back into. Ay, what a waste of my time, gotta drive a whole hour—"

"If you really do lack the ability to perform the task you assured me you could, I'll have my money back," says Hermione coldly.

"Fine. But I'm keeping fifty pounds for petrol and inconvenience. And another fifty as idiot tax."

By the time the finances are settled, the necromancer is ushered out of the house, and the curry takeaway that was meant to be the resurrected's first alive-again meal is stashed where he won't see it, Draco has vanished and the other ghosts have crept away. Hermione finds him on the back patio steps that lead down to the lawn. She closes her eyes briefly at the sight - he is hovering in sitting position, so carefully lined up with the brick that he isn't sinking in or leaving a gap between his form and the step - then joins him. The lights from the kitchen illumine the patio and steps and turn his silvery lines golden.

She folds her arms across her knees and rests her chin on her arm. She looks at him. "We'll try again. We'll dig you up."

"You'd only be animating a rotten corpse. You heard him. It has to be fresh."

"Well, I'm not helping you steal a body."

They sit in the silence, looking out into the night.

After a while she says, "If we _were_ to—"

"Linking a soul to a body that wasn't its original host is Dark magic. I've been reading more extensively on it. It would poison my mind and turn me into a monster."

"What else can we try?"

"Nothing. We've done all we can do. Thank you for helping me."

"I didn't do anything. Nothing to speak of."

"Thank you for wanting to help, anyway."

"I'm sorry."

"Yes. It's—disappointing. Well. So it goes."

He straightens so abruptly that she instinctively reaches for him to detain him. Her fingers move through his silver knee as though through mist; he doesn't notice. He leaves her staring out at the dark lawn.

> **25 October**

"Are they friendly ghosts? We specifically want a house full of friendly ghosts."

"Oh, yes. They'll be very keen to bond with you." Hermione gestures to the empty walls. "Show yourselves."

Nothing fills the hall but the wind. The potential buyers exchange a look.

Later, after watching their rear lights disappear down the drive, she stomps back into the house. "What was that?" she cries, enraged. "I thought you wanted to be England's most haunted house! I thought you wanted to be listed in guidebooks!"

Sirius's head emerges from the wall. "But if someone else moves in, we'll never see you again."

Dumbledore, drifting down through the chandelier, says, "And we'll have to live with a moping Draco until the apocalypse."

Her brow furrows. "But he accepted it. He can't be… necromanced. 'So it goes', those were his exact words."

Fred glides by, shaking his head. Cedric says, "Do you know how long ago he died? Nearly two hundred years. He never so much as hinted about resurrecting himself until you showed up."

Lily says, "That's right. He was perfectly content as a ghost until you came along."

Hermione stares at them. "You think this was all for me."

"We're certain of it."

She gapes. "But—but—"

Remus materializes before her. His voice is grave and kind. "So here's the thing, Hermione. His last hope for a life with you is crushed. Something has to give. You have to either stay or go. Because all he really wants is you. And if you don't want him too, in whatever capacity possible… do him a favor. Don't come back."

> **31 October**

Draco says, "The house is sold."

"Yes," says Hermione brightly. "The house is sold."

"Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

"Thank you." She beams at him.

"When do the new tenants arrive?"

"Ah, well, it's obviously going to be a bit before it's move-in ready. I need to get a bid from the contractor, and I can only rehab it in stages, of course—but I'm officially starting today." She brandishes a broom and a bucket of cleaning supplies. "The spiders had better run for their lives."

He stares at her. "You're the owner."

"Yes!"

"How—"

"I found the gold. That is— _we_ found the gold."

James yawns. "That is, we led her straight to the gold."

Draco looks around, startled and not a little peeved by their apparent audience. The other ghosts float in a circle with him and Hermione at the center. Their smiles are knowing.

Hermione sets down her supplies and directs her laserbeam smile at all of them. "Your mission today is to collect data. I already know this place is in bad shape, but I need to know the weakest points. Rusting pipes, rotting beams, eroding structure—we have to find all of it. Get inside the walls, the floors, the roof, the foundation, and report back to me."

They salute her. "Aye aye, captain." The crowd disperses in a flurry of silver.

Draco turns to depart but Hermione steps toward him. "You aren't even going to say it?"

He stops and looks at her. His expression gives nothing away. "Congratulations. Official homeowner."

"Not that, Draco." She bites her lip. "I know why you wanted to be brought back to life. No, wait. Please. I know why because they told me, and in hindsight it was obvious. But I want so badly to hear it from you."

He says, "I want you to be happy."

"Okay," she says cautiously.

"I don't want to say or do anything that will get in the way of the happiness you deserve."

She steps closer. "I could be happy."

"With half a man? With half a life?"

"Half is more than the nothing you seem to be allotting us."

"You deserve a full life. Warm arms around you and children to kiss goodnight. I can't know you deserve that and watch you not have it and know it's because of me."

"I don't need warm arms—"

"You _do_. Hermione." He runs a frustrated hand through his translucent hair. "I know you think love can be this clinical, mental thing, but it can't. Not _only_. It's—unexpected caresses, and hugs providing comfort at the end of a hard day, and kisses that burn. And lovemaking."

"I want to try. We can make our own sort of happiness. Give us a chance. Draco—"

"Find someone else," he says roughly.

She reflexively reaches for him. He pushes her hand away.

Their hands collide and ricochet off each other as a solid does when striking a solid.

Woman and ghost stare at each other, wide-eyed. Hermione clutches her hand where the contact with his lingers on her skin. He reaches out his hand and she reaches out hers. They touch tentatively. His hand looks like a hologram but hers can't pass through it. His fingers slide around to hold hers. Under her touch his skin shifts as though over tendons and bone.

"Hermione," he says dazedly. "I can _feel_ you."

"Are you alive?" she cries.

He sinks down into the floorboards and rises back up. "Still a ghost. But you're warm. And _solid_."

"You're cool and solid." He is just as silver and transparent as ever. "Be any temperature you like," she says wildly, "just stay solid to touch."

"What's changed? Is it a full moon?"

"I don't know, but while we have it—" She grabs him by the silver collar and pulls his head down to hers, wrapping her arms around him so tightly he grunts.

They are still twined around each other when the other ghosts flood in. "Hermione! Draco!" they screech. "You can touch each other!" They hit the couple like a cascade, flowing though Draco and knocking Hermione right out of his arms.

He is outraged but she is laughing, so delighted there are tears in her eyes. "I can touch you—and you—" She runs from one to another, hugging everyone, each one as substantial as a living body beneath her fingers. They swing her off her feet and spin around the room, gleeful, and look at each other in wonder. Sirius says, "This is the first time I've been able to hug someone in over a century."

Hermione puts a hand to her head. "I own the house. I'm bonded to the house. And you're bonded to the house. By virtue of which—I must be bonded to all of you."

"Good enough for me." Draco laces his fingers through hers.

"Do you know what this means?" Fred says. "Our games of Capture the Flag are about to get so much better."

Draco says sternly, "Hermione is not a flag."

Hermione says, "That reminds me. I submitted the estate for an evaluation by _The Frightened Briton's Guide to Haunted Homes and Ghostly Places_. The assessors will be here in a week. Better get practicing!"

The ghosts shine even more brightly, if possible, and swell with excitement. They gather in a chattering cloud of silver and seep away through the walls toward the ballroom, where they have lately been working at making the six fifty-flame chandeliers alight and snuff out in sync. The noise of their arguing and planning fades, leaving Hermione and Draco alone in the hall.

She gives him an expectant look. "You were saying?"

He shakes his head with a smile. She smiles back and loops her arms around his waist. He tucks her wild hair behind her ears and kisses her again, both levitating in a slow rotation while all the lights in the house blaze on and off around them.

**Author's Note:**

> [seasonally perfect stinking cute HEA end credits music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5cHXRBi3hzg)


End file.
